"That ain't just how we handle vag suicides, but we'll let 'er go
this time," he commented.

It did not take Jeff long to learn how to cover a story to the
satisfaction of the city editor. He had only to be conventional,
sensational, and in general accurate as to his facts. He
fraternized with his fellow reporters at the City Hall, shared
stories with them, listened to the cheerful lies they told of
their exploits, and lent them money they generally forgot to
return. They were a happy-go-lucky lot, full of careless
generosities and Bohemian tendencies. Often a week's salary went
at a single poker sitting. Most of them drank a good deal.

After a few months' experience Jeff discovered that while the
gathering of news tends to sharpen the wits it makes also for the
superficial. Alertness, cleverness, persistence, a nose for news,
and a surface accuracy were the chief qualities demanded of him by
the office. He had only to look around him to see that the
profession was full of keen-eyed, nimble-witted old-young men who
had never attempted to synthesize the life they were supposed to
be recording and interpreting. While at work they were always
in a hurry, for to-day's news is dead to-morrow. They wrote on the
run, without time for thought or reflection. Knowing beyond their
years, the fruit of their wisdom was cynicism. Their knowledge
withered for lack of roots.

The tendency of the city desk and of copy readers is to reduce all
reporters to a dead level, but in spite of this Jeff managed to
get himself into his work. He brought to many stories a freshness,